


Infidelity

by skullfucker



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst and Porn, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, dont you hate it when your porn attempts to have plot, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullfucker/pseuds/skullfucker
Summary: Henry Emily was everything you were not. Successful. Wealthy. Married.And most importantly, definitely not homosexual.
Relationships: Henry Emily/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Infidelity

**Author's Note:**

> should have made this willry. oh, well, you can always pretend.

Out of nowhere, your body was suddenly pressed up against the crowded work desk, one calloused hand squeezing itself against the upper thoracic of your back, rough fingers and blunt nails digging into the gaunt skin caressing your spine. Chapped lips shoved against your own as the other's hips flushed against yours in an almost unforgiving fashion. It was as if the world didn't exist, that you two were the only ones in it that mattered.

The moment your fingers tangled themselves within the man's hair, the one above you essentially like a predator, everything suddenly came to a _stop_. He pulled away from you with almost surprise, Honey brown eyes stared directly into your own like pools of regret and disgust. Disgust in its purest form. That didn't seem to stop him, however, as his face pressed into the crook of your neck, kissing along the tender flesh and occasionally catching your skin between his seething teeth in an attempt to force blood to raise to the edge of your skin, almost like he strived to grant you a beautifully painted bruise; a mark of possession, barely.

"Henry," your voice barely shivered above a whisper, sounding too meek, willing, even to you as your wiry fingers slid down the back of his skull, tugging at his hair gently as to not harm him. The aforementioned fingers drag down, beginning to press against the middle of his back, "Henry, you're so good..." Despite his somewhat rough movements, he was so gentle and caring with them, bitterly reminding you that he was merely doing this out of sympathy, of the kindness in his heart and to make you feel good, not because he truly wanted it as much as you did.

When he pulled away from you, time stopped. He had a hard expression on his face; as if he was thinking, contemplating. It threatened a cavity of anxiety to invade in your lower abdomen, a replacement to the ball of pleasure forming not even a few moments earlier.

"Sorry," he shook his head and pushed himself away, "I think you should leave."

Right.

Henry Emily was everything you were not. Successful. Wealthy. Married.

And most importantly, definitely not homosexual.

To everyone else but him, it was obvious. Even if he was faced with the undeniable evidence that you were homosexual, he would merely just brush it off and pretend as if it never happened. Even with you pressed against his workbench, half-naked and mewling out his name, he would act as if it wasn't even real. You were foolish enough to believe that even for more than a second, he would indulge in your disgustingly sick delusion. A constant reminder that he wasn't yours nor were you his, that he was happily married and had _childre_ n. 

"We can't keep doing this," he abruptly pipes up, a pet name rolling off the tip of his tongue at the end as if it was loitering there, "it's wrong." He slumped down in a nearby chair, face in the palms of his hands. Typical Henry. He would condemn himself until the very day that it was proven to be the other parties mistake, and even then, he would be sceptical. So quick to blame himself, yet never others. It was not only one of his redeeming qualities, but also a drawback.

Henry's eyes peeked at you with his right eye through between his index and middle finger, "please, just leave," your lips felt dry as he continued, "stop looking at me like that. I'm _sorry—_ " he nearly choked back on his words, fingers digging into his face angrily. "I apologised! What more do you want from me?" His head suddenly dipped upward, hands falling between his thighs, face fully coming into view so you could finally see his hopeless expression. He held a grimace on his face, shadows overcasting the rough outlines pressed into his skin.

 _I want you to be mine,_ you wanted to say, _I want you to love me._ But the words refused to leave your mouth, lingering at the tip of your tongue like a lion ready to pounce on its susceptible prey; yet never quite formulating the odds. You merely stared at him while he stared back. Neither of you spoke for a decent minute or so, but to you, it felt like an eternity. As if time had completely come to an intolerant stop and forced you to dwell through agonising years within seconds.

You broke the silence, unexpectedly, as your legs dragged your body over to his own, much to what seemed to be his contempt and despair. "You," your throat felt dry all of a sudden, "you can put aside your personal feelings and just let out your stress," your right hand trailed up his collarbone to his jaw, "for your pleasure. As long as it makes you happy, Henry, then _I'm_ happy." This was heinous. You shouldn't be committing these acts, especially to such an extraordinary man like him. Everything would come crashing down if he knew of your true feelings.

His left hand grasped at your wrist so gently that it was as if he didn't even touch you while the other ran over your knuckles lovingly. His eyes suddenly held a certain softness to them, directly contrasting the animosity he held in them earlier.

"You're such a nice person," he confessed, pressing himself up off the chair he sat in. "You would do that for me — regardless of everything?" He held your hand for a moment, a kind smile creeping up to his lips thoughtfully, "thank you."

The next thing that both of you knew, however, was that he was up against you just like before, yet, less gentle and more as if he was going to devour you whole like you were his prey. _As if he knew you would do anything for him_. There was a lingering sense of nausea washing over you as the realisation hit, crawling down your spine so painfully as a way to remind you that this wasn't love, he didn't love you, Henry Emily did not love you as you did him.

The moment he touched your cock, jerked his wrist upward and ran his thumb along the tip, a cry escaped you from both embarrassment and relief. Even if he didn't love you, the way that he touched you in such an intimate manner was enough to rile up your sinful fantasies. At this level, was he doing this for his satisfaction? With the way that he was fondling you, it felt so _natural_ and so _incredibl_ e, that a fraction of you couldn't help but visualize it as such. Your words of praise caught themselves in your throat, only escaping you in the form of jumbled moans.

"What will you let me do?" He asked so abruptly; so unexpectedly.

"Anything," was your response, "anything that you want." And it was true.

The rest of what happened was a blur, but, your legs were suddenly draped around his waist with the tip of his cock pressing against you, almost in a teasing manner, before it forced in so _agonisingly_ slow. It was uncomfortable, painful, but you were numb to it due to you, as much as you felt shameful to admit it, giving yourself preparation earlier that day. Though, you couldn't lie when you say that it felt as if he was tearing you apart from the inside out. You felt so full. A few cries fell from your lips but eventually died down as he whispered in your ear oh so kindly, using feathery gentle touches to soothe you.

He was so kind, so considerate of you. Did he feel bad, enabling these emotions inside of you? Did he even know?

"You're warm," he commented to ease the tension, clenching your shoulder blade with one hand, "tense, too." He then smiled fondly, pressing his forehead against your own with closed eyes, a benign gesture. He gave you time, allowed you to adjust, and just treated you _so nicely_ that it was hard to not fall in love with him even more than you already did. He made it so hard for the words to not fall from your lips, for them to stay hidden deep within you. Cowardly locked away.

You arched your back against him, against his touches, and called out his name so _sinfully_ that you were sure that you were condemned to hell in his eyes right at that very moment. One of your hands crawled to the nape of his neck, "you chh-uuah," your eyebrows furrowed together as he shifted inside of you, the tip of his cock brushing up that one certain spot inside of you. It made your toes curl, a jolting tremor up your spine tediously. "Can—" you started up once more, "you can move, nn-nnow." Your head rolled back, his face now pressed into your jugular as your adam's apple bobs with each halted breath.

Henry doesn't speak, and neither did you. He just grinds his hips against the curvature of your arse and begins to thrust inside of you, as if to test the waters. He whispers to himself, something about wondering how this worked, how this was so weird — so much different from his wife. It was another jab at your heart, but you pretended that you didn't hear it, only focusing on the pleasure. You wanted him to make you forget about everything, for him to stop holding back and let himself go. The very thought of him doing such a thing did spark a feeling of arousal in your lower abdomen, shamefully crawling up your spine.

You're so gross. Disgusting, using someone like him this way. But he's just so nice, it's hard not to.

"Henry," you moan out, "please, please, more?" You felt bad for begging him, but the soft hitch of his breath was enough to signify that he liked the thought of it just as much as you did. "You don't — _fuck_... don't have to, ahhhuh, hold back." The room felt like it was spinning and your head was pounding but in a good way. It wasn't before long that you could only focus on Henry, on what he was doing to you, how gentle his touch was and how good he made you feel.

You don't know how, but suddenly everything on his workbench was discarded, thrown to the ground and left abandoned much like your sinful feelings and emotions. Your body was forced inwards, almost, Henry hovering over you like a predator to their terrified prey. But, you weren't afraid. If anything, this made you feel even more aroused. It made you feel needed, or even _loved._ The very thought of it even brought upon butterflies in your stomach. 

Thoughts began to mend together; emotions interlocking with the lust you buried deep inside. It escaped through loud moans that came from you, unable to be controlled, much less monitored by you.

"Henry, so good, please—" words of praise fell from your lips before you could even stop them, ringing in your ears painfully. "Henry, Henry, mmhhg—!" A warm hand was smacked against your mouth in attempts to silence you, the words in your throat being caught by his palm. Your legs trembled around his waist, whimpers growing in your throat. You were close, so close. The coil in your gut was almost painful; irritation being amplified by Henry's rough thrusts and bruising grip.

The coil began to tighten like a spring in a faulty suit, readying itself to be released and finally _snap_. And yet, a part of you never wanted this to end. It felt so good, too good — it was almost ethereal. But, as his thrusts became more sloppy and his breathing begins to labour, you were sure that this was coming to an end soon. The coil in your gut tightened to the point where it was beginning to hurt, and finally, it snapped. Your orgasm wracked your body so abruptly that even you didn't expect it, curling around your gut and pulsating through your cock.

An unexpected, unpleasantly loud moan came from you, being muffled by Henry's palm as tremors shook your body, hips involuntarily shaking as you came. You could feel the warm substance spew onto your gut and immediately warm your cooling skin. It felt so nice to _finally release_ , but Henry didn't seem like he was stopping. You could peek at him through your eyelashes, at least, you could see his messy hair and back, skin coated in a thin layer of sweat.

Henry's hand fell from your mouth suddenly, fingers running over your wet lips. A whimper escaped you, feeling overstimulated by the pleasure but accepting what he gave you regardless, "haahhh, He— Henry...!" His name rolled from your tongue like a gentle sob, a plea. "Please, ppl— please, I can't— 's t-too much..." He was so good, he made you feel _safe_ despite how overstimulated and almost abused you felt. It felt so good, yet hurt so bad at the same time. You never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, you felt his hips shudder against your own, and he let out a particularly loud moan, the tip of his dick brushing up against your prostate. That sent a shock right down your spine and you curled your toes, moaning out his name feverishly. You felt him beginning to come inside of you, his hips grinding against your own in what felt like pure ecstasy. He was panting, completely dazed and unable to formulate coherent sentences. It was as if he wanted this or liked it, just as much as you did.

Your nails dug into his skin, his breathing sending shivers down your spine as he breathes down your neck. You can hear soft whimpers; whines, almost, escaping his lips as if _he_ was the one being fucked. Nevertheless, it sounded amazing. You loved it, hell, you even loved him. As sinful as it was, as disgusting as you felt, god, you loved Henry.

"I..." He breathed out, pulling his head back to stare into your eyes. You loved his eyes. A brilliant shade of brown; deep and mysterious. His pupils were dilated, blown out so wide that you would've thought he had black eyes. "I think I—" he paused before he finished. What he was going to say, you had no clue. But, with his lovestruck expression, oh, you felt your heart aflutter. Before it came crashing down at his next words,

"I—I think you should leave, I... We shouldn't have done this. Oh, god, we should not have done this. I'm sorry, God, please forgive me." Henry ducked his head down to press his forehead against your naked chest, incoherent whispers of forgiveness escaping him. "I'm disgusting, I'm such a terrible person. I'm a sinner. I took advantage of you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I apologise." He had begun to heave, treating you oh so delicately as he pulls away. Back to blaming himself, it seemed.

"Get your clothes back on and, just... leave, please." He slips his trousers back on, buckling them with ease as his trained hands; fingers, twitch. "This was the best night of my life. I'm sorry that it ended this way." His gaze shifted away from you, his eyes absentmindedly darting across the machine riddled ground.

Henry looked back over to you, a sad, almost invisible grin creeping up onto his face."I loved you too, by the way."

**Author's Note:**

> henry emily is the most attractive man ive ever seen, and thats a sad fact for me. i wish people made more fanfictions of him


End file.
